


bets

by chii



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 03:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chii/pseuds/chii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I know we’ve got this whole theory about ladies liking scars,” North starts, and York snorts, flinching a moment later at the way the motion makes his whole body hurt. “But considering that neither of us are ladies, maybe it’s best we abandon that. Doesn’t seem to be working out too well- for either of us.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	bets

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted because of a [gif set](http://gavinmichael.tumblr.com/post/33574920479) on tumblr.

He hears about North using equipment on the field- mostly by accident, really, and doesn’t believe it until he catches North sneaking out of Recovery, with a nasty mark on his cheek, nearly mirroring his sister’s scar. “…You know if you’re gonna do this whole stealth business, you may wanna try and hit up Carolina for her active camo, or wait til you’re not wearing like nine tons of armor. Just a suggestion,” York comments idly, watching North tense and then relax. He matches the other man’s pace with a little shake of his head, listening to the familiar, solid thud of metal meeting metal as North walks to their rooms. “So. Equipment, huh.”

York feels the weight of North’s gaze without even having to glance over, and cuts him a smug smile, because he doesn’t need to explain how he heard about it- rumors are as prevalent here as anything else, when you have nothing better to do with your time.

“Didn’t have much choice, considering what was going on.”

They duck into North’s room- North, to start shucking armor, and York, because, well, he’s not done talking yet and North hasn’t booted him. He knocks the lock shut behind them, and reaches out to steady him, helping him get the heavier pieces off. Why the idiot had gotten back into his armor after it had been repaired, he didn’t— well, no, okay, he did know. Everything here was about appearances— he was back, up and running again after taking a hit that would have slowed a lesser agent down and he was okay enough from it to keep on going. It doesn’t mean it makes York feel any better, though. “Heard you took enough metal to the chest that we coulda made you some jewelry,” York says mildly, and they both know what he’s asking— what he’s implying.

The breastplate gets removed, along with everything else, and York reaches out, catching his fingers in North’s base suit deliberately, keeping him close. “Be more careful, okay,” he chides, and they both know it’s not that easy, it’s not between a choice of get hurt one day and not the next. North, to his credit, only smiles, the motion making the slice pull on his cheek, and York flinches sympathetically, only to pat the other side with a little sigh. “Gonna give me gray hair, y’know that?”

“Please, you’re not that old yet,” North retorts, and reaches out, snagging him by the shoulder, tugging him in a little hard, a little fast. It has to ache, York knows, and he tries to soften it, tries to give him more of a side hug rather than this full on hug, but it’s all for nothing and he finds himself sighing, squeezing him tight just once. “Besides, wasn’t it you that said ladies liked scars?”

It was, and it was tried and tested, but in this circumstance, it doesn’t make him feel any better. “In case you noticed, not a lady,” York reminds wryly, and pulls away with a little shake of his head. “Get some rest, man. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

When York wakes up in Recovery, his whole left side a mess of pain and bandages, he’s not surprised to see North there, helmet off to the side. He’s been injured enough times to know the drugged feeling that he’s got right then, where everything feels thick, like he’s moving through molasses, equal parts nauseating and disconcerting. 

“Heard he chewed y’guys out,” York slurs, and makes a face that makes him flinch a moment later, clenching his fists in the sheets before he can get himself back under control again, trying his best not to move.  Belatedly, he mumbles, “Ow.”  
  
To his credit, while North is normally more fussy, he just settles himself on the end of the bed and gives York a thorough once-over, shaking his head. York can catch it out of the corner of his good eye, the other still covered in gauze and whatever foul smelling shit they put on it to help it heal.

“Had something like that happen. Gotta say, we’re all more worried about this poor bastard in Recovery who decided to catch a grenade with his face, though.” North instantly looks apologetic when York laughs and then groans. His vision is blurry enough he’s not sure if that look is apologetic or just fussy, so he reaches out, bumping his knuckles against North’s forearm with a thick, heavy sigh.

“I’ll be fine. Doc’s’re sayin’ I’ll be out in a few days. Soon as I’m offa the fun stuff here, I’ll be golden. Won’t be able t’get rid ‘f me.”

And okay, he realizes, he realizes that maybe this isn’t exactly the most convincing argument when he’s got his head wrapped in bandages and he’s not even sure if he’s got a left side of his face anymore, but North just laughs and settles more firmly into the bed, the old cot creaking in protest at the combined weight. It’s handled them both before; York’s not worried.

“I know we’ve got this whole theory about ladies liking scars,” North starts, and York snorts, flinching a moment later at the way the motion makes his whole body hurt. “But considering that neither of us are ladies, maybe it’s best we abandon that. Doesn’t seem to be working out too well- for either of us.”

He can’t argue with that. York settles more firmly into the blankets and pillows and bumps his knuckles lightly against North’s, where his hand rests on the bed, blinking sleepily at him. He’s so goddamn tired- it’s why he hates this stuff, and much as he’d like to stay up and chat, exhaustion beckons. “Seein’ how we’re both not ladies, I can be persuaded,” York murmurs slowly, and gives him a half-smile with the side of his face that doesn’t feel like he got hit by a truck. “Check back with me in a few days, huh?”

And in a few days, North’s the one that looks the least surprised at him sliding in, and York bumps his shoulder to Carolina’s lightly as he settles in with them, back where he belongs. He’ll catch hell for it later, he’s sure, but as they settle into the ship, he leans up into Carolina’s space, smirking under his helmet as he transmits it to North. “Hey, boss, settle a bet for me, will you?”

It does exactly what it’s supposed to when he elaborates- North laughs low and relieved into his helmet at how he’s back to normal, and Carolina shoves him into his seat with a shake of her head, joining 479 up at the front while Wash— bless his heart, really, now— stares at him like he’s got a death wish. “How aren’t you dead?” he asks, and York absolutely beams, because that’s something like awe in his voice, and damnit, North, he totally won this bet.

“‘cause, Wash, chicks dig a guy with scars,” he says smugly, and gets rewarded with North groaning into the comm.


End file.
